Existence
by Carolyn984
Summary: COMPLETE! Jesse's thoughts, from first meeting Susannah to eventually falling in love with her, and what happens when he cant prevent what will hurt her the most. (Not a one-shot!)
1. Falling

Existence  
  
By Carolyn, Carolyn984@aol.com  
  
Disclaimer: I highly doubt that I am Meg Cabot. In fact, I'm pretty sure I'm not.  
  
Summary: Jesse's thoughts, from first meeting Susannah, to falling in love with her, and then what happens when he can't control what would hurt her the most. (Goes from Shadowland through Haunted in the first 2 chapters, and then the plot of chapter three is my own creation. =) )  
  
"And all this time I've been so hollow inside. . ." --Evanescence  
  
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This was never fair.  
  
But then again, I wonder, what in life truly is?  
  
Was it fair that I was to be murdered on the eve of my arranged wedding, and later thought of as a fleeting, worthless son? Although that no longer matters to me, at one point long ago, I can remember being outraged at the injustice. I had every intention of following my father's orders. How is it that I was the one to become cursed by the scheming and infidelity of another party? Cursed, to haunt the very same bedroom for over one hundred- fifty years? Maybe there was something I did wrong, that I was being punished for. Maybe I was not always the good, obliging son I thought myself to be. Why else would I be forced to spend eternity alone, without a single soul to share it with?  
  
And then she came along.  
  
All of the sudden, the curse was lifted. Someone, a real, live human being, could see and talk to me.  
  
Granted, this real, live human being did not appear to be as elated as I was about the whole thing—in fact, the girl was deeply disturbed that I was occupying *her* room. I laughed. After all, it had been my room for over a century and a half; to hear it referred to as hers after having only been standing in it for a matter of minutes seemed somewhat ironic to me.  
  
This girl, though. . . this girl was something else. I do not know if she knew how much she inadvertently improved my existence. Her courage, her bravery, and her—albeit sometimes overly so—headstrong behavior was like none I had ever seen before. She was strong.  
  
Yet, part of me knew I would have to protect her. She was strong, yes, but impulsive. She would need someone to watch over her, to help her if she was to succeed in all of the dangerous tasks that were somehow set on her shoulders. I could not help wondering how it was she was chosen. Surely, I thought, someone else would be more suited to such a task. Surely, such a young girl could not be capable of handling such tumult in her daily life.  
  
And then I saw her at work. And I knew. I knew no one else would be more suited to such undertakings. This girl was amazingly tough for someone so young. Yet not invincible.  
  
I do not wish to think what would have happened to her if I had not followed her that first time. I was quite impressed with her initial tactics, actually—she handled that angry young girl quite decently. However, the girl would not cooperate, and became outraged. That is when I had to step in and intervene. That is when I took it upon myself to be her personal guardian. What choice did I have? I was not about to let the first soul I had spoken to in my time as a ghost be cruelly harmed and taken away from me.  
  
From that point on, Susannah and I became friends of sorts. At the least, she stopped threatening to "kick me out," I believe was the term she used.  
  
Over and over again, I helped her, but I honestly believe that she helped me more, and in more ways than I can describe. At last—at long last—I mattered again.  
  
At last, I existed.  
  
I cannot express how much that affected me. To finally have contact with the living world again; it almost made me feel as though I had not died, as though I was still alive.  
  
And then I was brought back to the crushing reality that I was not. This knowledge grew more difficult through that time—ironically so, because for over a century and a half I had accepted my death. Why was it that only now it was getting painful? Why now, just because I had met a girl who could interact with me as though I was alive? A girl who was so determined and pure-hearted, and even humorous—far more so than any girl in my time?  
  
And then I knew. It was because I began to care for her. Deeply.  
  
And I knew that I could never have her.  
  
It took time, but this too I forced myself to accept. But I thought that, if I could not have her, I would protect her with all of my being. I would try to fight my growing feelings for her, and simply be a confidant, a companion. One who would guard and care for her as much as was physically possible for someone of my. . . disposition.  
  
As it turned out, though, my plan backfired. I would have given my life again to save her from unjust harm, but she beat me to it. This girl—no, this young woman—actually sacrificed her own life to prevent my untimely passage onto the next world. She had no idea what she was getting herself into, and yet she carried out her plan anyway.  
  
She had herself, for all intensive purposes, killed.  
  
For me. Me. A man who was already dead.  
  
No one--*no one*--else would have ever even thought of committing such a task. Not for me.  
  
But she had. Susannah cared enough to have the priest exorcise her spirit to save me from my premature departure from the land of the living. The priest, who was not a man, I knew, who would eagerly support such an ordeal.  
  
I could not believe it. And yet there it was.  
  
We returned to her room—our room—and she simply went to bed like nothing had happened. She very well could have died for good, and yet she shrugged it off. Although I do remember that I had to check her vital signs more than once—when she did not awake for many hours, I grew nervous that something was wrong, but thankfully nothing was. As it turns out, she can also sleep like no one I have ever known before, too.  
  
During the time when she was unconscious, I could not think of what to do. I felt as though I was going to be smothered with my feelings for her—now, stronger than ever. The next morning, I left her room briefly to sort my thoughts. I could not think straight, not with her laying there, serene and beautiful and audacious and everything I ever wished for but could not have. It was tearing me up inside.  
  
When I returned, she was no longer sleeping. I decided to wait for her to come back from where ever it was she went to. I needed to talk to her. Desperately.  
  
Finally the door opened and she entered, looking as radiant as I remember, and her green eyes were shimmering with a light that I never appreciated as much as I did then. Suddenly the words I had planned to say to her escaped me—my breath, had I any, caught in my throat. I pushed on, though. I could not wait any longer.  
  
As it turns out, she could. Wait. She did not want to talk, not at all. She began rambling about going out with a friend of hers, to the beach I believe, if I heard correctly, and how talking was not very high on her list of priorities.  
  
So, I walked right up to her, blind with the emotion that was struggling to come out. Fine. You don't want to talk? We don't have to talk. But I could not resist her anymore.  
  
So I kissed her.  
  
And I felt more alive then than I had in all my twenty years of life.  
  
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I can't stop! These ideas just keep popping into my head! Ah!  
  
The first two chapters aren't really going to be anything new—basically just bits of the series through Jesse's eyes, and how his feelings developed—but chapter 3 is where the meat (sorry vegetarians! I'm one too, haha, so it kind of made me laugh when a reviewer of "My Life as a Lump of Dough" wrote 'I don't really like pepperoni. . .' ;-) Love you guys!) of the story comes in. That's when my idea actually gets out in writing.  
  
Anyhow, review review review! And don't forget to review my other ones too—After We've Said Goodbye wants more! =)  
  
Chapter two coming soon!  
  
2004 by Carolyn 


	2. Unthinkable

Existence chapter 2  
  
Carolyn984@aol.com  
  
"If loving you is wrong, then my heart just won't let me be right  
  
Because I'm drowned in you and I won't pull through without you by my side. . ." –Mariah Carey  
  
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But as I said, things are never fair. When her younger stepbrother entered the room to see how she was doing—her forehead was badly bruised and cut, no doubt by the same hombre malisimo who had taken my life—I broke our kiss. Suddenly I realized what I had done, the sin I was sure I had committed. I felt as dirty as that boy who had kissed Susannah in his automobile, as filthy, but even more so because I had no right to. I was dead.  
  
I could not—could *not*--act upon my feelings. It was not right.  
  
But Susannah. . . she—I am sure I am not mistaken—she returned my kiss. Although I was not living, she kissed me as though I was. There was passion in that kiss. That I know I did not hallucinate.  
  
But what could I do? It was wrong of me to have acted upon my emotions as I had. I could not draw Susannah—a living young woman—into my tainted desires. She was alive, I was not. She could not love me.  
  
So I tried to stay away from her. I only hoped that I was not hurting her by doing so, making her think that she did something wrong, because she hadn't. It was me. I was the wrong-doer.  
  
And then that man—that escuso horrible por un hombre—came back into her life. The very same man who had left her to die in that tierra de sombras. . . he returned, and had tried to harm Susannah again. I did not know this, of course, until he—el bastardo—sent her roses. I was furious.  
  
And of course, I later was driven by my emotions once again. I could not help it. He—that cobarde—came into Susannah's room and made such crude accusations of her, I could not take it. More so, though, because the things he said—about my incapability to offer her anything—were true. Painfully so.  
  
So I took my fury out on him. Granted, if anyone deserved my rage, it was this boy, for he had threatened the life of the one person I cared for. I am not proud of my actions, however. Especially after what it forced Susannah to do—to return to that lugar peligroso. I did not know that was what happened at the time; all I knew was that she collapsed on the ground, at the same time that *he* went limp in my hands. I feared the worst.  
  
The following day she came to me. I was overlooking my own headstone, wondering if she would ever forgive me for my sinful behavior. Wondering how I could face her again, and not take her into my arms as I so wanted to do. Suddenly, there she was. There was such sorrow in her face that I reached out my hand to comfort her, and gratefully, she took it.  
  
And I could not believe what she said next. I tried to apologize, but she stopped me—she told me it wasn't my fault, but before I could interject, she finished the sentence with "if you don't feel the same way about me as I do about you."  
  
All I could think was, "Nombre de Dios!"  
  
I did not think it was possible. Susannah could not return my feelings. It was not physically possible—a living person, even a mediator such as she, could not love a ghost.  
  
Apparently, though, my actions were not as despicable as I had thought. The kiss we shared, which I was sure she regretted, she claimed was the best thing that ever happened to her. Could it be. . .?  
  
Suddenly, the rush of passion returned, and I swept her into my arms and kissed her again. I was positive this time that she returned it, with as much zeal and fervor as I had. Susannah, this striking human being, cared for me, nothing but a spirit. It was wondrous and unthinkable. At this point, I did not even think about what could possibly happen down the road. She said it did not matter to her that I was not alive, that none of that mattered, that it would not hurt her.  
  
I wish I didn't believe her then. If I hadn't, I could have saved her.  
  
Because she was wrong.  
  
It has hurt her. More than any physical pain she has ever endured.  
  
I should not have believed her.  
  
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Chapter 3 coming soon—get those tissues ready! ;-)  
  
Remember—reviews make happy authors, and happy authors make faster stories. =)  
  
2004 by Carolyn 


	3. Invisible

Existence, chapter 3  
  
Carolyn984@aol.com  
  
"So take a look at me now, there's just an empty space  
  
And there's nothing left here to remind me, just the memory of your face  
  
Take a look at me now, there's just an empty space  
  
And you coming back to me is against all odds  
  
And that's what I've got to face. . ." –Phil Collins  
  
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You would think that "passing on" requires an actual departure from this living world, but apparently not. I would know.  
  
Because that is what I have done. I have moved on, in a way, albeit against my own wishes. I would never leave her if I did not have to. Not having known she returned my affections. I would never desert her, leave her alone and unprotected. I would not even think of it.  
  
I cannot even understand what happened. One moment, Susannah and I are talking in her room, and seconds later, I am feeling this pulling sensation. I immediately know that something is wrong, and begin to tell her so.  
  
"Querida, something is happening. I don't know—"  
  
"Jesse?" she looks over to where I am, but instead of focusing on my face as she normally does when talking to me—as any person would do when talking to someone else—she starts frantically searching around the area where I am standing, just feet away from her. "Jesse? Where. . . well, that was rude."  
  
She turns, with a hurt and aggravated look on her expressive face, and flops over on her back on her mattress. I do not understand what is happening. Did she not hear me? Why did she stop talking? What was so rude?  
  
Can't she see that I'm still right here?  
  
And then it hits me—she can't. She doesn't see me.  
  
How did this happen?  
  
I walk over to her, but she does not stir. She remains laying there, staring up at the ceiling impatiently. In my mind, I hear her calling me. "You know, Jesse, I *was* saying something, but I guess I'll just have to wait until you come back from where ever you took off to. But hey, you know, no rush."  
  
What is she talking about? I am right here!  
  
"Susannah, what do you mean? I have not gone anywhere."  
  
She just sighs, glancing around the room once more. I begin to grow nervous. What just happened?  
  
I reach out to take her hand, to show her that I am still here. But I cannot.  
  
To my horror, my hand passes right through hers. I cannot touch her. She cannot see me.  
  
And I don't know why.  
  
I try other things—I try lifting the book that I left on the window seat. Nothing. I try using my kinetic abilities to withdraw the pen that Susannah had picked up and begun tapping in aggravation from her hand. Nothing.  
  
And then I hear a voice in my mind. It is not Susannah's, but familiar all the same.  
  
"Hey, I hope you didn't leave anything unsaid, cowboy, because you won't be able to talk to anyone—not even Suze—anymore. It's time for you to go," the man's voice taunts. It is that despicable man—el Diablo si mismo—Paul Slater.  
  
He did this. He did something to me. Something that is forcing me to move on. Not an exorcism, but something equally destructive. And suddenly I know. I will be gone soon. I will leave Susannah.  
  
And the thought scares me more than anything else. I do not know what to do. I cannot leave, not yet.  
  
I love her.  
  
She knows that, right? Please tell me she knows that. She must.  
  
And she shouldn't. I wish she did not. No—I am more thankful for her love than for life itself, this half-life that I live, but I only wish she did not have to be hurt like this. Because that is what I feared most from our relationship—that someday she would be hurt by it.  
  
I just never thought it would be so soon.  
  
The telephone rings. Susannah gets off of her bed and answers it, her voice still tinged with frustration. Seconds into the conversation, all color drains from her face.  
  
It is Slater. He is telling her what has happened, what he—for I am sure it was he—has done.  
  
The phone drops from her hands. "No. . ."  
  
I rush over to where she is standing, but although I cannot touch her, I stand beside her. I listen to the voice coming from the telephone, which is lying idle on the floor.  
  
". . .I told you it would happen sooner or later, Suze. I was just helping the inevitable. You're better off. . ."  
  
And I cannot listen any more. I turn to look at her, her emerald green eyes shimmering with tears. "No. . ." she says again. In a haste, she picks the phone off of the floor and pulls it back to her ear. "What are you talking about? *What did you do??!*"  
  
I listen again. "Just helped your cowboy get to the other side. You should be thrilled. I took on a charity case, just like you."  
  
"Paul," she says, her voice brimming with rage. Susannah, I want to yell, I am right here! "Tell me you didn't! You did NOT!"  
  
"Oh, but I did. Don't worry. He's probably still around, at least for now. You just can't see him."  
  
She looks feverishly around the room. "What do you mean, I can't see him? Why can't I see him?!"  
  
He chuckles hollowly through the receiver. "Suze, stop sounding so angry. I mean he's out of the living world now. Well, no. Actually, he's technically still in the living world, only no living person can see him. Not even mediators. That, to some, is moving on. Because really, how do you know that's not what happens to all ghosts once you send 'em packing? Maybe they're still there, you just can't see them any mo—"  
  
Susannah squeezes her eyes shut, as if she was in pain, and slams the telephone back down on the holder. "No. . . no no no no NO!"  
  
I do not know what to do. I want to stop her tears, which have begun to flow down her porcelain skin, but I cannot. There is no way for me to comfort her. I cannot do anything but stay near her.  
  
My heart is breaking.  
  
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Chapter four, coming soon. . .  
  
Remember, reviews make happy authors, and happy authors make faster (and more!) stories. =)  
  
2004 by Carolyn 


	4. Fade

Existence, chapter 4  
  
By Carolyn, Carolyn984@aol.com  
  
"And I'd give up forever to touch you  
  
'Cause I know that you feel me somehow  
  
You're the closest to heaven that I'll ever be  
  
And I don't want to go home right now  
  
All I can taste is this moment  
  
And all I can breathe is your life  
  
'Cause sooner or later it's over  
  
I just don't want to miss you tonight. . ." –Goo Goo Dolls  
  
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As if the heavens bore witness to the disastrous events that had just taken place, the sky began to darken ominously. Heavy black clouds thickened the previously light air, and thunder crackled in the near distance. It would not be long now.  
  
She has collapsed onto the ground, her eyes wide with unmistakable fear and disbelief. I can tell by the way she is looking back and forth so rapidly that she is trying to think of something to do. If only there was something.  
  
"No. . . Jesse. He can't be. . . not again. . . no, please," she murmurs almost incoherently. This is becoming painful for me to watch. . . seeing my Susannah so crushed, when just moments earlier, she was talking and joking with me. I realize that this must be like when I was forced away that once before. She had to deal with this once already. Now, again, she will be broken.  
  
I almost cannot stand to watch, but I cannot leave her. I could never leave her.  
  
Even if she cannot see me.  
  
Suddenly, she looks up and gasps. For an instant, I am filled with hope that maybe whatever curse Paul Slater had created was broken, but when she continues to stare straight ahead, I realize that she is still seeing through me. Only it appears she has become conscious of something. She crawls to her feet.  
  
"You. . . you're still here. He. . . he said you were still here! Jesse! Please! Let me know you're still here!"  
  
"Querida. . . Susannah, I've tried," I say despondently, although I know she cannot hear me. This is excruciating for me—I don't know what to do.  
  
Lightning crackles outside, and rain begins to pour down in heavy sheets.  
  
"Jesse! Let me know you're here! Please!" her voice shakes with fear and sadness. She reaches out her hand. With a shuddering breath and a tear- stained face, she pleads, "Show me you're here. . ."  
  
I reach out to take her hand. As before, it passes through.  
  
But at the same moment my ghostly hand touched hers, I saw something in her eyes. Recognition. She felt it, somehow.  
  
"Yes. . . that was you, wasn't it? I felt it. . . it was just. . ." she appears as if she does not want to say. Instantly, she looks crestfallen. ". . . it was just. . . cold."  
  
Cold. . .  
  
Then, as if to be sure, she runs over to the window and slams it shut, forcing out the wild, damp winds that were trespassing. Then she walks over to where she was before, wiping endless tears from her stunning eyes.  
  
"Again," she says, extending her hand slightly. "Do it again. I need to know that was you, and. . . and not the wind."  
  
I oblige. Her breath catches. She felt it.  
  
And instantly, she bursts into tears. Susannah falls to the floor once again, her whole body shaking with uncontrollable sobs. As if the whole world had just broken before her eyes.  
  
Thunder crashes after a brilliant bolt of lightning, and suddenly we are shrouded in darkness. Now that the electricity has shorted out, the only sounds are that of the raindrops pounding the roof, and the voice of her stepbrother stating the obvious.  
  
I vaguely hear him, Brad, shuffle down the hallway saying, "Hey, the power went out," when Susannah abruptly stands up. She looks fanatical and distraught. She dashes over to the window, this time hauling it open again. In between sobs that make it difficult to understand her, she says, "Jesse, come with me," and climbs out onto the porch roof. Lightning illuminates her long shimmering hair, dampened with the first drops of precipitation, and Susannah leaps off onto the puddled ground.  
  
I don't know what she is doing, but I have no choice but to follow her. I put my hand on her shoulder so she knows I am there, but with all the rain pounding around her, I don't know if she feels me.  
  
"Come with me," she cries again, and begins to run.  
  
I wouldn't have thought to do otherwise. Doesn't she know I will always come with her? No matter what?  
  
I am unsure now, however. I do not know what is happening—what I am sure will happen—but I do know that it cannot end happily. Not for Susannah.  
  
And this thought hurts the most.  
  
She is tearing down the empty streets, paying no mind to the sporadic unlucky souls who were outside enjoying the day before the storm hit, and who were now frantically rushing home, shielding their heads with whatever they could find.  
  
Susannah does not bother. The rain, it seems, is the least of her worries.  
  
Finally, we reach the pale sand of the Carmel shore, clumping up in tannish masses due to the moisture. Tiny indents freckle the ground where the raindrops hit, giving the sand a mottled appearance. It is dark now, from the ominous clouds. So dark. . .  
  
There is no one left on the beach. Everyone has deserted it. Except us.  
  
"Jesse," she breathes, her voice wavering. "Jesse. . . wh-what happened to us. . .?"  
  
I wish I could answer her. I wish I could wrap my arms around her and kiss her tears away.  
  
But I cannot.  
  
And it is a horrible pain to think it. I never will. Never again.  
  
How can we make this right again? Is it possible?  
  
No. . . even if there was some way I could return, we could never be safe again. Dangers would always lurk in the shadows, waiting to tear us apart again. . .  
  
It seems there was always some force working against us. But we always found our way back. What makes this any different?  
  
The rain is falling harder now, so heavily that it is difficult to see more than an arm's length in front of me. I step closer to her, so I can see her face, the face that made my existence worthwhile. It is soaked, but her tears are as prime a candidate for its wetness as is the falling rain.  
  
I reach out and touch her chin, the tips of my fingers crossing through her skin. She draws a shaky, sorrowful breath, and whispers my name.  
  
That is all. Just my name.  
  
And the sound of it, the tone, crushes every nerve in my body.  
  
I lean in, and gently kiss her perfect lips. Her eyes blink with both heartache and muted happiness as she senses it, and her lids close, covering her glorious emerald irises. If only I could dry her tears. . .  
  
Suddenly I feel that pulling sensation again, and I know that it is time.  
  
No, I want to say. Por favor. . . un momento mas. . .  
  
That is all I have. One moment. . . one moment with the woman I love. . .  
  
And it hits me. I never told her.  
  
I am sure she knows, but. . . I never told her. How could I have not told her?!  
  
Tears pour from her eyes when she opens them again, and they immediately go wide. I did not realize then why, though. She gasps and steps back in shock.  
  
"Jesse!"  
  
Then I know. She is looking at me—in my eyes! She sees me!  
  
"Susannah! Querida. . ." She throws her arms around me, and for an instant, I think the spell is broken.  
  
And then I feel the pull again. I am being torn away. . .  
  
I don't have much time left.  
  
I lift her face, sobbing, from my shoulder, and look deep into her magnificent eyes. "Susannah, listen to me. . ." She is shaking all over. "Susannah, I. . . I love you."  
  
I did not say it alone, however. She said it, those three simple, earth- shattering words, at the same time as I did.  
  
I pull her in and kiss her again, this time my lips actually touching hers. I feel the pull again. . .  
  
It is like I am a candle, flickering out with the passing wind. . .  
  
The rain has slowed, and it has left a horizon of glorious color in its wake.  
  
"I love you," I say again. "Te amo. . ."  
  
And then, I am gone.  
  
The next thing I know, I am above her, watching her. She is crouched in the sand, tears streaming from her face. Her wails echo throughout the darkening evening sky, but only the crashing waves and swaying tree branches bear witness to the shattering of her vibrant spirit.  
  
I wish I could stop them. . .  
  
But I cannot. All I can do is watch her. Be her guardian.  
  
Just as I have always been.  
  
I thought that once I passed on, I would no longer exist. Now, however, I see that is not true. I am still very much real, but only in one place.  
  
Her heart.  
  
And that is the only place that matters.  
  
She is still my existence.  
  
Just as she has always been.  
  
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"Kiss the rain, whenever you need me  
  
Kiss the rain, whenever I'm gone too long  
  
If your lips feel lonely and thirsty, kiss the rain  
  
And wait for the dawn  
  
Keep in mind we're under the same sky  
  
And the nights are as empty for me as for you  
  
If you feel you can't wait 'til morning  
  
Kiss the rain. . ." –Billie Myers  
  
Questions/Comments/Requests for tissues?  
  
Send them to me at Carolyn984@aol.com!  
  
2004 by Carolyn 


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